


could be fun

by brute_tenderness



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alcohol, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 17:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17207732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brute_tenderness/pseuds/brute_tenderness
Summary: a normal night, until it isn't. the right amount of intimacy, and then a little too much.





	could be fun

What bit me was a perfectly normal spider.

Almost boring, how normal this spider is.

* * *

You get used to this kind of moment. Things are normal, then they're not. Never knowing what to expect is its own kind of normal. But it also never is.

Miles crawled through Peter's window that night thinking he knew what he wanted. It had been eight months since the last time he could have visited Aaron. Two weeks since Peter B. Parker ( _his_ Peter Parker, more his now than the first, more his now than _theirs_ ) had suddenly shown up again, improved only slightly by jeans and two shoes instead of sweatpants and one. So, naturally, Miles was looking for a chill evening. The TV on mute, headphones on, his school books and laptop spread across the coffee table. But it wasn't quite like that.

At first Peter wanted to talk, but kept trailing off mid-sentence, distracted by something. They ordered pizza, and Peter drank beer with his. Several of them. He had the game on, and it was too loud. It was mostly fine, though. Weird. Awkward. But fine. Miles made up his mind he was going to get comfortable anyway. He was going to make this work. But when he kicked off his shoes the Shiver (spidey-sense, they all called it, except for him, who couldn't talk about it without describing the abrupt, electric _shiver_ it shot through him) went off. He braced himself against the couch, eyes flashing back and forth trying to identify the threat - whatever it was had to be close. A breath went by, two, and nothing happened. Peter was staring at him, though.

"Uh...Miles, you good? You went kind of. Translucent there, for a second."

Miles blinked. Peter hadn't felt it? It was just him? Or were his senses dulled because of the drink? He nodded, trying to unknot a nagging suspicion at the back of his head. He untensed, unwound. The Shiver went away. He pulled out his books, did a few math problems. Peter watched the game, next to him but not close enough to touch. Miles snuck a look over when he figured he was too distracted to notice. He was huddled against the couch arm, eating from a bag of chips next to him, a fourth beer in his other hand. His knees were closed over a flabby square cushion covering his lap. Miles frowned, feeling heat in his neck, and something that wasn't the Shiver - something thick and unspeakable and both normal and super not normal all at once.

 _Ignore it_ , his rational, cautious, safe brain said. _Don't embarrass him. Don't embarrass yourself. Don't do this, its trouble and you know it._

 _Test it_ , his wilder self politely requested. _Just see what happens. See where this goes._

_Could be fun._

These days, that was becoming a more and more convincing argument.

He sat up slowly and stretched both his arms above his head with a quiet groan. Even with his eyes shut, he could feel Peter watching him. Noticing him. He unzipped his hoodie and slowly shrugged out of it, and the Shiver rippled through him again. He turned his head this time, and Peter met his eyes. For a second. Then he looked away, abashed, and coughed. Before he could say anything, Miles cut him off.

"You, um. You ever make up with MJ, Peter?"

That’s an important question, Miles told himself, throat bobbing. Even if she was dimensions away, he wasn't going to. Interfere.

"What? Oh." Peter's thoughts seemed scattered, even more than before. Guiltily, Miles was kind of glad. Made his own bumbling less obvious. "No I...I tried, but she needs more time. A lot more, I think. I dunno."

"Cool. Uh, I mean. It's too bad. But." Now his head was buzzing. Was sitting too close to him getting him drunk? Spider-drunk? Was that a thing? Or was he just nervous. "You have a lot of girlfriends, Peter?"

Peter was looking at him with this sort of suspicious grumpiness that Miles couldn't help but smile at, nervous or not. He delivered his next words deliberately, as if trying to set them between himself and the boy like the first bricks in a wall.

"No. Not really."

"Not much experience kissing, then?"

"I wouldn't say _that_."

"You a _good_ kisser?"

"Why are you asking me this."

"Because I wanna know."

That last part came out in a rush, and Miles realized a second after he said it that he was leaning closer, scattering those invisible, imaginary bricks to the side. His knee was touching Peter's thigh, his fingertips were inches from his chest before he caught himself. He blushed, belatedly, and lowered his eyes, but that just got him staring at the cushion Peter was now firmly pressing across his lap.

"I. Miles, you..."

"I wanna kiss you, Peter."

"Oh."

Three whole seconds of silence went by, and Miles had sort of an idea of what his Peter Parker was both trying to say and not to say. He could imagine it, in any case. the sort of chastisement that would allow him to activate his Responsible Adult Card, put himself in the category of his parents, his teachers, people who looked after and looked out for him. People who made the rules and told him to follow them. But Miles didn't want him to do that. He liked this hybrid of boy-man-disaster sitting next to him, he didn't want to hear him claim to be something else. So he leaned closer. He put his hand on his chest. He got their faces. Real close. He watched his pupils dilate and felt his pulse speed up. Then Peter Parker kissed him.

* * *

_No_ , went racing through his head, a little crookedly. _No no, no_. But the "no" stayed a thought, a loud, angry, self-admonishing thought, and all he _said_ was.

"Oh."

He wasn't quite sure what was wrong with him. He had a theory, something to do with uncalled for and unwarranted sexual reactions near other versions of himself, however many dimensions removed, but there wasn't much in the way of proof of that theory. No type of proof at all that he wasn't just fucking turned on by Miles Morales, by his gold-brown eyes, shy smile, dusty freckles, pretty hands, svelte thighs...

 _He's touching you_ , his thoughts reported in, like an impassive butler reporting only the obvious or the unhelpful. _His hand is very warm and his face is getting very, very close._

The butler took his leave then, as far as Peter could estimate. Because what passed for thought was promptly replaced with nothing but an urge. Miles' full, soft mouth was so close to his own, and then against his own, and what was certainly unnatural began to suddenly feel far, far more natural after that.

* * *

Man, if you met yourself from another dimension and then the two of you started making out would that be messed up or what.

* * *

Miles made up his mind pretty quickly that he liked kissing Peter Parker. It wasn't like he had much to compare it to, kissing-wise. But compared to pressing his face into his pillow, the crook of his arm, the tile in his bathroom, or biting his own fingers in curious, desperate frustration, it was way better than all of that. Tipsy or not, Peter was steady. He was warm, solid, persistent, and gentle. He started off teasing, feeling and nipping Miles' lips as if getting the measure of him before using any tongue, small licks at first, then deeper, prompting little gasps out of Miles' open mouth. While kissing Peter's hands both abandoned their respective snacks to hold the underside of ' jaw. Miles in return replaced the sad cushion in Peter's lap with his own body, knees spread on either side of Peter's round middle.

 _I'm not looking down_ , he said to himself, distracted and with every reason to focus just on Peter's mouth, his tongue, how good and warm it felt to meld their mouths together like this. _We're just kissing, that's it. Kissing is good. No need to push it._

Then Peter pulled away. No, not quite. It was more like he was gently moving his kiss, away from Miles' mouth and to his jaw instead, his hands sliding slowly outward to cup his shoulders as he tenderly rubbed up against Miles' neck. Miles leaned his head back to better feel the crook of his forehead - the bridge of his nose, then the scratchy of his stubble brushing right against his throat made him Shiver right through. Miles made a high sound that could almost be mistaken for pain, and his palms sparked electricity for an instant. Peter sat bolt upright, either from the sound or the sudden shock a thin t-shirt's depth away from his nipples, and blinked at Miles stupidly, mouth flushed, as if he'd just this second realized what he was doing.

"Miles. I. I..."

"Wow. You're, uh. You're _really_ hard, Peter." Miles felt his stomach seize up. That was. Not what he'd meant to say. But he’d blurted it. Right out. And a second of brain-delayed catch up later it was obvious why. That bit of energy he let out had apparently jerked Peter from half-mast to Stiff as a Soldier, and instead of politely ignoring it like he'd been doing before, Miles now had no choice but to notice that Peter Parker's cock was jutting right into his thigh.

Peter was letting out a wheezing, choked laugh, and before he could even ask himself what was funny, Miles was smiling, too. Oh. Yeah. This was actually completely hilarious. Plus watching Peter's face break out in laughter, ironically self-deprecating or not, was making his chest feel hot and light and very, very good. He put his arms around Peter's neck and got in close to him, close to his skin, his scent, his breath.

"It's okay," Miles murmured, letting his slim body press, shivering, against Peter's softer, heavier one, "this way it’s not just me." Peter made a sound like a balloon letting out air, but his hands found purchase on Miles' hips, on the small of his back.

"The hell are you telling _me_ it’s okay for...it’s-"

"Fine. Secret." Miles interrupted, gripping harder, his brows furrowed against the possibility that Peter was going to say something to mess this up. "And. fine. It’s. Between us. And that's fine. I like that."

Peter let out a hard breath, let the two of them hold each other silently for a few tense seconds more. Then he relented, his voice thick with something that could not accurately be described as regret.

“Okay. Yeah...okay.”

* * *

Pretending this wasn’t murder for his dick was, categorically, over. Pretending it was _okay_ was, somehow, possible. The first point was clearly the culprit for the latter, and there were variables missing, and common decency, but Miles Morales literally had him by the throat, and, after glaring at him for a few seconds with those criminally adorable eyes and his most serious pout, sought to resume the kiss he had drunkenly, foolishly interrupted. Miles’ mouth was _soft_. It looked soft, but that didn’t compare to how it felt when he kissed him. It was genuinely difficult to think when he was being allowed - when he was being physically _ordered_ to kiss this boy, to use his tongue and teeth to gently tease quiet noises out of him. When he didn’t think, his body moved on its own. Not thinking got his hands under Miles’ shirt, his mouth against his neck and his tongue tasting the pinpricks of sweat on his skin. Everything not-thinking Peter did made Miles gasp, or squirm, or hold him tighter, an over-abundance of encouragement both physical and visual he was just hopeless enough to give in to. He sat back a moment, hazy, to look at him, those _thighs_ spread carelessly wide over his lap, his dark eyes gone fuzzy with lust, his loose tank top rucked up enough to expose a dark strip of lean stomach above his tented shorts. He heard his own voice come out husky and croaked as his fingertips brushed teasingly across that little ribbon of skin.

“What do you like?”

Miles huffed, blowing his cheeks out with a shake of his head, his mind visibly racing as he tried to find the _right_ answer. _There’s no right answer_ , Peter thought. _That’s another lesson._

“Uh, that.” Miles said, reaching for the hem of his shirt and jerking it up defiantly, proof he could be decisive. “I like that.”

“Yeah?” Peter spread his hand out over the skin he was being offered. Wow. His hand was big. Or Miles’ torso was small. Both. He almost wanted to laugh again, and he could have, but it was also a big fucking turn on. He pushed Miles’ shirt up the rest of the way, close to mystified by how perfect and smooth he was. His skin was flawless, his lean muscle under it just defined enough to hint at the flexible strength and mobility their powers gave them both. His nipples were dark, a little puffy, and... _cute_. Were nipples cute? Had he ever thought someone else’s nipples were cute before? He was legitimately going insane.

“I, uh. I like it too.” Inadequate. Dumb. Obvious. But it seemed to please Miles, who breathed out another one of those adorable huffs with a smile. Peter put his other comically large hand on his waist and bent forward to kiss the center of his chest, scraping it with his rough jaw. _You’ve done it now_ , played in his head musically, equal parts mocking and celebratory and excited. _Oh, you've done it now, Peter B. Parker, you've really done it now._

* * *

Peter's mouth on his chest felt weird. Scratchy. Shiver-y. Not weird in a bad way. None of this, his red-hot nerves and surging hormones and aching, untouched lower parts all agreed, was weird in a bad way. There was something sexy about the scruff of him, the solid weight of him between his legs, the way his eyes fell half-closed when he was tipsy. Watching him mouth unhurriedly across his chest was almost as nice to watch as it was to feel and it was. _Very_ nice. To feel. Maybe it was experience. Maybe it was uncanny instinct that told Peter which spots on an alternate-universe-spider-man would feel the best when he licked, bit, or sucked them. Whatever it was, Miles felt completely suffused by bliss. He pulled in closer, settled in heavier, pushed his hips forward just a little more until his crotch kind of...disappeared against Peter's belly. He snickered, and Peter interrupted himself, grouchy.

"Oh. That's funny to you?"

Miles wheezed, gripped double by the hilarity and how undeniably excellent it felt. Nice and soft. Warm.

"Yep! W-weirdly hot, too. But yeah, _really_ funny."

"Unbelievable." Peter’s hands fluttered in nervous uncertainty, as if he couldn't figure out whether to shove Miles off of humping his gut or not. Miles grinned and rocked forward again, surprising himself by how _good_ the second push felt. Peter hissed in distaste, and held him firmly back this time with one hand on his waist, the other making up its mind to go down the front of his shorts, effectively providing a barrier between Miles' seeking erection and his own stomach.

"Aww," Miles sighed in mock-disappointment, but the tease was short lived. " _Oh_ ," he said instead, a moment later, as Peter's fingers started to curl around him, started to pet. "Yeah. Uh. That’s even better."

"Yeah, I know," Peter replied, not managing to keep any smugness out of his voice. Miles had all but tumbled into his hold, eager for his touch an understatement. He sighed, relaxed, and eased Miles down to more or less sit on his thighs as he caressed him with languid, steady strokes he didn't quite need to remove any of his clothing for. Miles kept a hand on his neck, his other coming to rest on Peter's bicep, as if feeling the muscle of it working to pleasure him was another layer of pleasure itself.

"Feel good?" Peter asked, the question itself unnecessary, the anticipated reply much more important.

"Uh huh," Miles breathed back, feeling the rhythm of Peter's strokes as if they were waves he was riding, pressing his cheek to Peter's (soft) chest to stay better in sync with him, to listen to their pulses beat in time with each other. "Real good."

"Atta boy."

Miles didn't have anything left to communicate with but needy, delighted gasps and overcome whimpers. Peter's hand was big, and warm, and all of him fit inside of it, and that ensconced feeling reflected the larger one of being all the way held by his bigger body, by his wider lap, by his arm holding him around his back. It just felt _nice_. Totally safe. And really, _really_ hot.

He might have sat shivering, nested there, for five minutes, ten, two. It didn't matter, he didn't count. Didn't count the number of times Peter pet him, squeezed him, crooned a warm, encouraging syllable or three in his ear. The pleasure of it all swirled, built, made him loose and then tense, hot and shivering, and when it did come to a peak he had both his dark hands braced against Peter's shoulders, his weight rocking forward as he came in bursts against his big warm palm. He zoned out after he did, pleasure-buzzed, taking in first the sight of Peter's chest heaving in front of him, then the sound of his breathing, still labored. Eventually he turned his dark eyes up to meet his. Peter's face said four things at once - more, maybe, his brows drawn tight over his lidded eyes and his mouth pressed shut as if he were gritting his teeth in an effort to hold back from - what, exactly? He had the sort of face on someone might make when they're watching a new kitten toddle across a living room floor, unable to believe something that cute was even possible, but also unable to believe that of all reactions to have he wanted to fuck that kitten. Poor Peter Parker.

“You next?” Miles said, with a hint of nervousness, but also like it was the most natural thing in the world to say. Peter felt for a second like he might actually cry.

“No...no, uh, that’s okay. Just. Just you is fine, I’m fine, I’m a…” he trailed off, snipping the word “ _grown-up_ ” from his sentence with smart precision before he could make such a wildly inaccurate, inappropriate mess of a claim. Miles had gone from wide-eyed to a slow glare, and was carefully pushing Peter’s arms apart, sliding back to give himself room, and reaching with a surprising lack of hesitation for the front of his pants and yanking them down.

“You’re crazy,” Miles muttered disapprovingly as he unclothed a stuttering, not-quite-protesting Peter B. Parker. He tried not to show as much surprise, fascination, even mild alarm, as he suddenly felt seeing him uncovered and _impressively_ erect. In that moment Miles Morales did not miss the aesthetic or mathematical disparities between their otherwise similarly shaped anatomies. He did the mental calculations fast and with a brief rush of real embarrassment - but he was still growing, and he _knew_ everyone looked a bit different, and that some people were cut like this, and wow, the way he was so peach-smooth until his head suddenly turned dark pink was. Really. Uh. _Pretty?_

“We. Would like you to stop staring, Miles. It is making us uncomfortable.” Miles snapped from his odd trance when Peter followed up his goofy statement by pulling him in by his waist again, to kiss some more.

 _This is good_ , Miles thought hotly, fragmented but feeling all right. Peter’s tongue brushing his left him with just enough presence of mind to get a good grip on his cock, too, _Kissing is good. And he’s not telling me to stop._ On the contrary, as soon as Miles managed to start touching him Peter melted into the couch, his breath more audible between their wet lips. He wrapped one of his own hands around Miles’ fingers, pressing harder than Miles did, guiding his stroke, but not pushing him aside. Miles added his other hand to the mix and found himself the weirdest combination of dismayed and utterly delighted to discover that even with both his hands wrapped around Peter’s shaft one on top of the other, his slick, pink cockhead still showed cheekily above them. Peter moaned openly, too, apparently _very_ into that, so Miles brushed his hand aside, emboldened, and began to pump and squeeze him more tightly with both of his. He felt impressive, powerful, amazed to be in the position of staring lucid and focused up into Peter’s much more conflicted, flickering expression. Over and over it was as if he was _trying_ to protest, but never quite got there. Both his hands ended up on both of Miles’ forearms, as if they were the handlebars for the ride he was submitting himself to. His grip got gradually stronger. Miles could feel his thighs moving under where his weight sat on them, his hips clearly used to a little more freedom of movement than they had at that moment. He was leaking, throbbing, really filling up both his hands, which were getting more slippery the longer he stroked.

“Miles,” he said finally, and then lapsed into labored breathing again, his expression less certain. “Miles…” he tried a second time, and Miles nodded at him, somehow not considering the possibility that he could slow down to let the man get a thought out. It didn’t matter anyway, whatever the thought was got forgotten. It took longer, and more effort, and twice as many hands, all both to Miles’ annoyance and, admittedly, awe, but it turned out there was only so long Peter Parker could fuck Miles Morales’ tightly gripping fingers before he came, hot and messy, all over them. There were a few moments of quiet then, of breathing, of Miles shivering and giddily mystified by having made a wreck of Peter Parker, who, strictly speaking, already was one, but never mind that. Then, sleepily but firmly, Peter wrapped his arms around him, and toppled them both to the side. Miles curled up on Peter’s chest and all of Peter’s lanky limbs crossed lazily but protectively around him. Miles wasn’t sure what to do with his sticky hands, but he figured Peter had to do laundry anyway, and shower, so he just stuck them under Peter’s shirt, smiling a little at the answering groan, too tired to really be a protest.

“So you, uh. _Like_ me. Huh.”

“Good guess.”

“C’mon, you know what I mean.”

Peter groaned, and rubbed the furrow of his brow with the heel of his palm.

“Yes. I obviously do. But it’s complicated, and you _know_ why, and I’m worn out just thinking about it, so let’s just. Not. For now.”

There was a quiet whine to those last words, a plea, but it was more than good enough. He said yes. He was holding him tight all over. He was warm, and solid, present, and lazy synchronized satiation rippled through both their bodies using that common channel that connected them undeniably.

It wasn’t perfect. But it sort of was. And that was good enough for now.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for having such good taste everyone~ I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
